Consider Me (Playing For Keeps Book 1)

CARTER

THERE’S an awful lot of heat rolling off her body when I sidle up next to her, and I’m crediting the blush she’s still wearing, the only telltale sign she’s aware of how close in proximity I am to her.

She can’t not know, but she sure as shit does a good job of acting like she has no clue I’m standing here, pretending to be interested in the commercial on TV. It’s one of those SPCA ads with Sarah McLachlan and a fuckton of cute puppies, and she looks like it’s killing her to keep watching. One look at the tiny thing has me pinning her as the type that cries when she watches this. I know because my mom and sister cry every time. Last year, my sister stole my credit card and donated fifteen hundred bucks.

With a hum, I sink down to the stool beside her, and when I spread my legs, my thigh brushes hers. She tries like hell not to let it, but her gaze slowly falls to the connection, and I think it’s incredible she can blush more than she already is. I watch that ruby red heat spread throughout her cheeks as she focuses back on the TV.

I don’t know what game she’s playing, but I’m in. I can stare at her all damn day.

I drop my elbow to the bar and my chin to my fist, intent on studying her gorgeous face longer than I’ve ever studied anything.

Long, thick lashes frame pretty eyes, warm and wide, like a cup of espresso. A faint dusting of freckles spatter across her cheekbones and down her nose, just as dainty as the rest of her, and her bowed lips, painted cherry red and turned down around the edges, showcase the perfect scowl. It’s a shame; they’d look incredible wrapped around my—

“What?”

My brows quirk at her biting tone, the sharp slant of her eyes as she glares at me.

Her lashes flutter as her eyes fall shut for a moment, and she pushes a quiet sigh past her lips like she needs a second to get a handle on herself.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes after a moment, shifting in her seat. “I didn’t mean to be rude. Is there something I can help you with?”

I lift my drink to my lips. “Nope.”

She twists in my direction, shoving my knees aside with her own. “No? You came over here to stare at me?”

“Pretty much.” I take in the deep plunge of her lacy black top, noticing her heaving chest. Christ, she’s incredible. Arrogance swells in my chest when I find her checking me out too. “Can I buy you a drink?”

She jolts in her seat, too lost in her assessment of me, but recovers quickly with the slight shake of her head. I think it’s more for herself, not me.

“No thanks.” She brings her beer to her mouth for another long pull, tongue peeking out to flick over the drop of amber liquid that clings to her top lip when she pulls away. “Already got one.”

“Once you’re done, then.” Which’ll be in approximately ten seconds the way she’s been pounding that thing back.

“I can buy my own drinks,” she snaps before tacking on a quiet, “but thank you,” as if that erases the sting of her tone. Her fingers drum at the wood as she keeps on sipping, eyes floating around the bar like I might disappear if she doesn’t look at me, and I’m not sure why, but I smile.

“I wasn’t insinuating that you couldn’t. I simply meant I’d like to buy you one and sit here next to you while you drink it.”

“Right, but you’re already doing that,” she points out, tipping her head to the side as she inspects me with such a healthy dose of suspicion I’m ready to admit to a crime I didn’t even commit.

A chuckle slips out of my throat, along with the word shit. She must not know who I am. “How do you know Cara?”

“She’s my best friend,” she replies coolly, like she’d rather be anywhere else instead of sitting here talking to me.

Ah, the elusive bestie. Now I know why Emmett told me to stay away.

She swivels on her stool, scanning the bar, looking for Cara, I’d guess. If she’s not, she’s simply trying to not look at me. Anywhere but at me, by the way her eyes move over my shoulder, around the shape of my body.

“Really? Shame we haven’t met before now, huh? Cara’s been keeping you all to herself.” I hold up two fingers for the bartender, then point at my new friend’s glass. “What’s your name?” I’m pretty sure Cara already told me, but I didn’t care then. I care now.

She huffs out a wary exhale as her new beer appears in front of her. I know she likes beer, so she must really not wanna give me the time of day. Only makes me want it more.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she mutters, “but thank you.”

I resist the urge to laugh, ’cause I don’t see it winning me any brownie points. This internal battle she’s got going on—stuck somewhere between biting my head off and being polite—is entertaining to watch.

And I’m still waiting for her name, so I sit here silently, sipping on my beer, because I’m bound to say something stupid and fuck it up if I open my mouth right now. I’ve been told I lack a filter, something most ordinary people have. But I’m not ordinary; I’m Carter Beckett.

Another sigh, like she’s resigning to the fact that I’m not going to get up and walk away simply because she doesn’t relent easily. I hate to tell her this, but I’ve never wanted to stay put so badly.

“Olivia.” The name drifts softly across the space between us, and I hum quietly as I roll it around in my head, trying it out there first.

“Nice to meet you, Olivia. You can thank me for that beer later if you’d like.” I wink and spread my legs out wide, getting comfy.

Her brown eyes drop, following the movement, and she snorts a laugh. I don’t think a girl has ever snorted in front of me. It’s oddly…endearing?

“I’d rather bury my entire face in a mountain of snow out front.” Another sip before she lifts her glass in acknowledgment. “I’m going to keep my drink, simply because I know better than to waste good beer, and you’re going to accept the verbal thanks I gave you a minute ago.”

Oooh, I think I like her. Playing with fire is always fun, and the more I play, the more I realize Emmett was—dare I say it—right. Looks like I might have my work cut out for me here. I’m up for the challenge. Fuck knows it’s been a long-ass time since I’ve had to work to get anyone into bed. I’d hate to let all my talents go to waste, and I can’t imagine someone more worthy of the effort than the saucy brunette who’s still scowling at me.

“You don’t know who I am, do you?”

Olivia’s dark eyes scan my face over the rim of her glass. “Trust me,” she starts slowly, a hint of amusement lacing her tone as she leans toward me, “I know exactly who you are.”

“And who’s that, sweetheart?”

“Carter Beckett.” I’m not sure I’ve ever heard the two names spoken so plainly, and I don’t know whether to pout or laugh at the way she twists away to focus her attention back on the TV, as if she doesn’t give a single shit who I am. “Captain of the Vancouver Vipers. And you can take that ‘sweetheart’ and stuff it up your ass.”

Beer slides down the wrong tube and I cough once, slamming my fist against my chest. I may be choking, but I see it right there in the corner of her mouth, the hint of a smile, and that only spurs me on.

“Not a hockey fan, huh?”

“Love it. Played for fifteen years.”

My brows skyrocket. “No shit.” My thumb skates across my jaw at the idea of messing around with a girl who has a decent grasp on the concept of hockey, let alone one who played the game. “House league?”

She snorts again. It’s fucking adorable.

“All right. I’ll take that as a hell no.” My gaze skims her curves, the length of her toned calves, her strappy black heels. “You’re a tiny little thing. You must have gotten rocked out there.”

“Don’t you worry, Mr. Beckett. I can hold my own.”

“Spent some time in the penalty box, did you?”

“Almost as much time as you do,” she replies with a hint of delight, those chocolate eyes gleaming with mirth as they flick to the split in my lip from the fight I got into at last night’s game.

My grin cracks my face in two. Bullshit she’s not at least a little bit interested in me.

I draw closer, her magnetism irresistible. “My condo’s right down the street.”

“How very convenient for you.”

“It’s only a ten-minute walk.”

Olivia lifts her beer to those kissable lips. “So close.”

“I can get us an Uber if you prefer.”

She chokes out a laugh, slapping a hand over her mouth in an attempt to stop the onslaught of beer rushing out of it. I’m riveted, watching as she dabs at the corner of her mouth and wipes the bar around her. The amusement dancing in her eyes has me feeling pretty confident about the direction we’re heading tonight—right down the street to my condo.

“Oh, Mr. Beckett. You are as naïve as you are pretty.” She lays her palm on my chest, giving it a patronizing pat. “The very last place I’m going is home with you.”

“Why?” My face dips closer, and I notice the exact moment her breath catches in her throat. Her tongue peeks out, wetting her bottom lip, spurring on my next whisper. “I wanna fuck you silly. Maybe put you in the penalty box.”

Olivia’s face breaks with a snicker, and it’s as cute as the snort. “You can’t seriously tell me you pick up women with lines like that?”

“No, of course not.”

“Thought so.”

I grin. “Normally my name and pretty face are more than enough.”

I snag a loose curl, twisting that lock of dark brown, the little bit of caramel winding through it, and twirl it around my finger. She’s got pretty hair. And pretty eyes. Pretty lips. Pretty thighs. Pretty tits. Fuck, she’s just pretty.

With a gentle tug, I urge her forward, and smile at the way she comes, like she doesn’t realize she’s giving in to the pull.

“We can get there in eight if you’re game for a piggyback ride.” My gaze drops to her legs, and I lick my lips when I meet her innocent, wide stare. “Wrap those pretty little legs around my waist before I wrap them around my face.”

Heat rolls off her body in waves, her lips parting on a staggered inhale. Olivia pulls back abruptly, putting enough distance between us that the air around me cools.

Clearing her throat, she pulls out her phone and starts flipping aimlessly through Instagram, like she’s bored out of her fucking mind. “What a terrible idea that sounds like.”

“I beg to differ.”

Her eyes sparkle with mischief as she meets my stare. “You’re right. My feet are sore from all this dancing. The piggyback sounds wonderful.” She smiles at the way I chuckle, and then tacks on in a more sincere tone, “I don’t do one-night stands, Carter.”

Well, shit. That’s about all I’ve got space for in my repertoire.

I skim my lower lip with my teeth, eyeing the way her fingers drum her glass, the way she peeks at me every few seconds to see if I’m still watching her, the flush that creeps into her cheeks when she realizes I am. Her body language, the nerves that make her fidget under the heat of my stare, it doesn’t match her snarky comebacks, and somehow it only makes her more intriguing.

“All right,” I say, before I’ve even really agreed to it in my head. Fuck it, why the hell not? If there’s a woman I’d ever want to see again, it might be Olivia. “Why stop at just one night? I’ve got a feeling you’re the type of song I’d play on repeat.” I might even consider waiving my no sleepover rule. We can go all day long tomorrow before I send her on her way. I slap a palm to the wood and jerk my head in the direction of the door. “Let’s go, beautiful.”

Her jaw unhinges. “You’re joking.”

“I’ll even take you for breakfast in the morning.” I flash her what I’ve been told is a particularly charming grin.

She drops her face to her palm, muttering something that sounds a lot like cocky fucking asshole. The look in her eyes when she drags her hand away has me unsure if she’d like to laugh or hurt me. It kinda looks like a mix of both.

“You seem to be misunderstanding me.” She drains the remainder of her beer before hopping off her stool. Christ, she’s small. I’m sitting and I’m still towering over her. She steps in real close, getting right up in my face, though I have to stare down at her. She smells good, like freshly baked banana bread. Is that weird? All I know is I want to taste her.

“I have absolutely no desire,” she starts slowly, enunciating every word, for my benefit I’d guess, “to be another notch in your bedpost. I’m sure this whole messy hair, pretty green eyes, crooked smile bullshit you’ve got going on melts many panties, but not mine.”

My fingers have a mind of their own, wrapping around her hips, pulling her between my legs. I smile as I dip my head, holding her gaze. “So you admit it. You think I’m pretty.”

Olivia rolls her eyes. “There’s not a bit of me that’s surprised that that’s your takeaway.” She gestures over her shoulder. “You can have any girl you want. Go find someone else to take for breakfast.”

Well, that won’t do. The breakfast offer was exclusive to her.

“But I want you,” I whine playfully, catching her hand and lacing my fingers through hers. It’s soft and warm, tiny, mine swallowing hers right up, and she watches the pad of my thumb ghost over her creamy skin. “You look and smell outrageously delicious, and you have a brain cell in your head when it comes to hockey. You’ve told me to go fuck myself in at least three roundabout ways, and I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this attracted to someone.”

Her hand relaxes in mine as she steps a little bit closer. Her palm skims the edge of my thigh, fingertips dancing up my arm before she brushes her warm touch across my jaw. Her face lifts at the same time mine drops, and the fire in her gaze holds all the promise of one hell of an unforgettable night.

Her breath coats my lips, and when I run my tongue across them, I swear I can taste her.

“Has anyone ever been able to tell you no?” she asks on a whisper.

My chest puffs with pride. “Never.”

A wide grin blooms on her face. “Well, I guess there’s a first time for everything.”

My forehead crumples as I blink down at her, her hand slipping from mine as she steps out of reach. “What?”

“Enjoy the rest of your night,” she calls over her shoulder before she squeezes through the crowd, disappearing.

Well, fuck me sideways. I don’t like this.